


Of Blood and Biscotti

by youtastelike_sunshine



Category: Il Volo
Genre: Italian Mafia, M/M, MafiaAU I guess, Multi, Murder, Mystery, Violence, idk wtf this is, the il volo page is e m p t y and i am sobbing, uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 13:46:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16996143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youtastelike_sunshine/pseuds/youtastelike_sunshine
Summary: Mafia!AUor*When there is literally no content of Il Volo so you say fuck it and write some yourself*





	Of Blood and Biscotti

“Ok, I knew he said this place was nice, but I didn’t know he meant _nice_ nice.”

“Igna. Focus,” Piero muttered under his breath. The older man was situated in one of the slightly more isolated parts of the room, surveying the large crowd.  
He tapped his shiny, just-bought pair of leather dress shoes.  
He tightened the knot of his suit tie.  
He reached a hand up to fix his hair, subtly fixing his earpiece as his hand came back down.

“Everything alright out there, Piero?” A tinny voice came through his right ear.  
“Other than the snarky, grossly rich fuckers?” Igna’s voice chimed in.  
“Wasn’t talking to you, asshole.”  
“Big, ugly things for big, ugly people,” Piero added quietly.

Piero wasn’t exactly far from the truth. Even he had to admit the grand ballroom they had pulled up to was far from anything he had expected. Large, Doric pillars rose into the arched ceiling. Heavy, velvet drapes were tied neatly in place against the walls, revealing large windows and picturesque views of the glittering city below. For the past few hours, Piero and Ignazio have been wandering the open “dance floor,” making small talk with grossly entitled millionaires, and watching closely.

The third man, Gianluca, had been communicating with the two from their car outside, monitors and surveillance screens propped around him. Multiple times he had caused spontaneous and eyebrow-raising giggles during Igna and Piero’s conversations, and he would laugh to himself as he watched them make fools of themselves. Of course, good-naturedly.

The case file they had been given depicted a fuzzy photo of the suspect, a German in his maybe-late-thirties, mousy brown hair and stubble that told of days without shaving. “Haas” was the name given. Either this man was really good at hiding, or he wasn’t here at all. They really hoped it wasn’t the latter; however, things were beginning to look hopeless. Piero was about to call it quits and _go home_ when a staticky  
“Got ‘im,” reached him.

"I’m confirming it,” Gianluca added; a pause, then a  
“I think this guy is our man."

The eldest cursed.  
“Location, Igna?”  
“Fountain.”

Piero ambled near the architectural disaster that was the huge, stone fountain in the middle of the floor. He made sure to stay a good distance away, but pretended to lean against a wall when he spotted Ignazio and the supposed suspect. He kept them in his peripheral vision, never looking directly. Although keeping his calm demeanor, Piero’s heart was racing; he could feel it thump through his expensive, hand-crafted collared shirt.

_The adrenaline always comes before._

 

The plan was to chat him up. To gather enough information and ask enough questions to deem themselves as friends in his eyes. Not suspicious members of the mafia.

Igna looked to be doing well, despite his forever-lasting hatred of faux-interested conversations. He was more of an action man.

The two Europeans seemed to hit it off immediately, and Piero diverted his attention slightly more. He scoffed at himself for worrying so much. It was a simple mission.

Piero whips his head around when he sees the suspect reach into his jacket and pull something out, abandoning subtlety. The next moment, a loud _bang_ sounded throughout the ballroom.  
“Igna!” Piero is shouting, despite the frantic orders from Gian to stay calm and hidden.

There are stampedes of screaming women and cowering men, and Piero pushes past them all.  
“Igna!”

A single sound echoes throughout the room that makes the Italien stand cold. The sound of a knife. Stabbing through clothing, again and again, the sound of a knife. The high ceiling makes the sound so much louder, and Piero fights the urge to cover his ears. Usually, he wouldn’t be deterred from rushing to his friend’s aid. But there was one thing stopping him.

_They hadn’t brought any knives._

Shaking his head, the man rushes on, albeit much slower. There are streaks and puddles of blood everywhere. He lifts one of his expensive shoes to find the bottom stained red.

“Piero.”  
The weak voice awakens him. A cry for help? A last, dying wish? No. Just Ignazio.  
“...Are you hurt?” The other asks, but Piero ignores him.

He walks quickly into the other man’s arms, not caring if he ruins his shoes anymore. They aren’t even his, for God’s sake. The taller man’s arms wrap around him, holding him tightly. He doesn’t let go. The older man inhales, and he can smell the cologne Igna always wears.

Spicy, almost intimidatingly so, but a sweeter, softer scent lies beneath.

Looking over the top of Igna’s shoulder, he sees the damage that has been done.  
Draped over the fountain like a doll, Haas lies, half his body in the water, half of it out.

Piero can see the stab wounds, leaking blood, and he almost chokes in relief. He hears the clang of Igna dropping the knife to the floor and puts two and two together. He holds him tighter. The fountain spurts red, like a corrupted Halloween attraction.

“Don’t do that again.”  
Piero hates the way his voice wavers near the end.

They finally let go when a voice crackles to life on the other side.  
“Don’t want to break the love fest, but guys? Come back soon.”  
Piero frowns, letting his arms fall to his sides.  
“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” They both hear a sniffle; it’s muffled, but clearly there.  
“I need to hug you both too, alright?”

The two laugh at the way Gian’s voice cracks at the end and Piero briefly wishes he could have witnessed it. The youngest may come off as a brooding, angry man, but he’s really just a softie at heart. The other two have witnessed it enough to confirm.

“Don’t cry yet, my son. Mama and Papa will be there soon.” Igna chuckles, and a watery,  
“Shut the fuck up, Igna,” is the only response before the tell-tale _click_ of the earpieces shutting off is heard.

“Let’s go home, yeah?” Piero mumbles, and runs a hand through his messy hair, no longer slicked back and pristine. Igna nods; they head out casually, like nothing had ever happened, into the cool night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Back in the van, the youngest sniffs once, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Gian reclines the chair back, arms crossed. He was happy; he really was. But one thing was bugging him. Why had Haas openly fired? If he had wanted to kill Ignazio—Gian shudders at the thought—why didn’t he make a quiet slit of the throat, or choke him, or at least stab him behind closed doors? Why hadn’t he tried luring Igna somewhere else?

To shoot in the open like that, with hundreds of live witnesses, was like...suicide. Gianluca uncrosses his arms, sits up, opening his computer so fast the glare of the screen almost blinds him.  
With a swift click, he opens the picture of the case file. The day before he had taken it, uploading it to the computer. Just in case.

 

_Shift._

_Command._

_4._

 

A smooth movement of the cursor and the picture of Haas was screenshotted. The man’s dull eyes stared back at him.

_Why? A death wish? A suicide mission? Why, why, why?_

Gian opens a searching browser, clicks on the little box in the corner.

_Can’t find what you’re looking for? Insert a picture!_

He drags the screenshot into the box.

 _Search for related images_.

 

About 7 images are pulled up. The same man stares back at him seven times, the same picture over and over again. Gian swallows. He clicks on the first.  
_Stefan Heinrich._  
He slides to the next one.  
_Stefan Heinrich._  
The next.  
 _Stefan Heinrich._

Gianluca lets go of the mouse, sitting back. He runs a hand over his face.  
He was not Haas.  
The man Ignazio had just murdered was Stefan Heinrich.

_But why try to kill Ignazio if it really was a suicide mission? It’s almost like, like…_

The case file they had gotten was fake.

 

_Like a diversion._

  


 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know if I'm capable of writing another chapter but I'll try ;-;  
> Constructive criticism is always welcome!!


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